


Teach Your (Grand)Children Well

by shewhoguards



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:20:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhoguards/pseuds/shewhoguards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergeant Jackrum liked being a grandfather. It turned out it was a lot more fun than being a grandmother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teach Your (Grand)Children Well

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perryvic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/gifts).



Sergeant Jackrum _liked_ being a grandfather. It turned out it was a lot more fun than being a grandmother. Grandmothers mostly had to be small, do a lot of baking, master the art of knitting and smile adoringly no matter how much of a brat their sweet little grandchild was being.

Grandfathers got to shout when their grandchildren were being repulsive little nitwits, and that was the sort of thing Jackrum had been doing all her _life._ Grandfathers got to show their grandchildren how to deal with the playground bully – and not _just_ a method that involved understanding that said bully was probably misunderstood so really should be pitied. Grandfathers could show their grandchildren how to fight (even if under the watchful eye of slightly worried parents). In short, grandfathers got to have a lot of fun.

It helped that any grandfather who could do all of those things was welcomed into the family as Of Use. Jackrum’s son had greeted him with a surprised sort of pleasure, even if the boy did tend to ask awkward questions about what had happened to his mother. One day, perhaps, Jackrum would have to have a talk with him but on the whole that was the sort of thing that could wait for your death-bed. As for the boy’s wife – well, sometimes she looked at Jackrum as though weighing up the amount of possible bad influence that could be carried by one person, but mostly she seemed grateful for someone who could bellow her boys into good behaviour. Boys could take a lot of bellowing at times; they were at an age where their brains were fairly small so it could take a long time for an order to reach them through their ears.

Said boys treated Jackrum with a mixture of awe and delight which suited her down to the ground. She was clearly excellent when shown off to their friends, wonderful when she was showing them how to fight, and to be respected if not liked when she was shouting fit to bust because the little nuisances were trying to get themselves killed in some way so stupid that even soldiers had never thought of it.

And then there was Sylvia. Jackrum wasn’t yet sure how to handle her only granddaughter but she couldn’t deny that the girl made her nervous. It was odd, really, when there was so little of her to be afraid of. She was just a little wisp of a thing compared with her brothers and her blonde hair and blue eyes made her look like a delicate little doll. But Jackrum had raised enough youngsters to see that there was a backbone of steel hidden by that fluffy blonde hair, and those innocent blue eyes had a way of looking at you that seemed as though they could see right through to your soul. Underneath that seeming softness, Sylvia was as hard as diamond.

 Take the affair with the butcher’s boy. Jackrum had just happened to be there to see the boy as he’d given Sylvia a shove into a muddy puddle. Of course, the girl’s mother had been there as soon as she came back – all tenderness and cuddles and sympathy. It had been Jackrum who had approached Sylvia later and given her the same offer she’d given the girl’s brothers – she could teach her how to fight back if she wanted. Jackrum didn’t believe in fighting children’s battles for them, but you didn’t have to send them out without weapons either.

“No, thank you,” Sylvia had said, and if the girl’s voice had sounded shy it had also sounded determined. “I’ll deal with it. Thank you.”

And a week later, though gods know how she’d managed it, the butcher’s boy just _happened_ to be walking by Old Lady Hutchins’ window when the old woman dumped a full chamber pot out. Of course, it had to be coincidence – Old Lady Hutchins’ barely spoke to anyone, and was well-known for not having a sense of humour – but Jackrum had been there and seen Sylvia’s face and, well. It was enough to make a sergeant wonder. Not disapprove necessarily, for it had been the best type of revenge – the type that didn’t involve tattling or anyone _truly_ getting hurt – but wonder nevertheless.

So, when the girl came to her for advice, it was understandable that Jackrum should be a little nervous. Not that she’d shown it; no, she’d patted her knee and been the bluff old grandfather the child was useful. “Coming to your old grandfather for some help, hm? Want to know how to fight?” She dearly hoped so. It was the only help she felt truly qualified to give, especially to this girl.

But Sylvia shook her head, small face scrunched in a frown for a moment. “Grandfather, how do you change the world?”

“Well,” Jackrum floundered for a minute. “You can fight wars, win for the cause of good against great evil, that type of thing…”

“Only I asked Daddy if I could be a doctor and he said ‘Not until the world changes, dear’,” Sylvia went on. “Do I have to fight a war for that?”

“Ah.” It wasn’t a question with an easy answer. “Well, maybe a _type_ of war,” Jackrum said doubtfully. “Or you could go elsewhere. I hear Ankh-Morpork is very free-thinking about that type of thing.”

“I don’t want to be a doctor a long way away.” And there were those piercing blue eyes again, looking right through her. “I want to be a doctor here. And there’s this man over a few streets away, he sells newspapers? And I saw him one day and there was this headline about how Sergeant Jackrum’s squad was changing the world, so I thought I would ask how you did that.”

The Ankh-Morpork papers had made it over here? Jackrum resisted the urge to groan. “Have you talked to your parents about this?” she asked weakly.

Sylvia shook her head solemnly but her eyes were still fixed on Jackrum. “Should I have?” Was that a threat? No, surely the child was too young to know how to threaten and blackmail – but then, it wasn’t as though Jackrum hadn’t done the same when the situation called for it. He hadn’t been a threatening man, ha ha, but sometimes you used _every_ weapon you had at your disposal.

And so the child wanted to be a doctor. Well, should that be such a surprise? Should _every_ girl not willing to settle down and be a housewife run off to be a soldier? Maybe there were other paths.

She cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose you want to be a midwife, do you?” she suggested hopefully. “Very rewarding profession, I’ve heard.”

The girl shook her head. Of course not. Nothing in life was that easy. “I want to be a doctor,” she persisted. “I just need to know how to change the world to do that.”

Well, why not? It had to change that. “So, you want to change the world.” Jackrum sighed and tried to think where to begin. “Well – don’t tell your mother – you need to start with some socks…”

 

 


End file.
